An heir of bravery: Glimmer's story
by belle.noel
Summary: With no female volunteers for the first time in years, Glimmer Gallows finds herself a tribute in the 74th annual Hunger Games. Leaving behind two orphaned sisters with an inkling of hope and her late mother's wedding ring, Glimmer is tested on her will to survive.
1. Chapter 1

A girl stands on the Reaping stage in front of District 1. Everything about her is beautiful. She is tall and skinny, with a pale complexion. Blond hair cascades in gentle waves down her back. Her envy green eyes are so gorgeous it hurts to look at them for too long. Can it be me? No. No, I know that girl. She is my sister. She is fifteen years old and her name is Onyx. I am looking up at her on the stage, her fragile frame outshined by an authoritarian Capitol flag in the background. The wings of the golden bird illustrated on the flag sweep in alignment behind her shoulders and look as if they're going to pluck her off the stage and carry her into the arena itself. I find myself standing in the audience with the other 17 year olds feeling unbearably hidden by the group. A burning sensation slides down my throat, into my stomach. I must volunteer for her. Why can't I scream?

"I VOLUNTEER!" My voice cries clear as day in my head, but the words are too heavy on my tongue. I open my mouth again and again but I cannot force the words. Helplessly, I push past the crowd to the center aisle and attempt to run up the stage, but my legs are too heavy and as it is happening I feel myself falling, falling, falling in front of the crowd. I scramble to my hands and knees, sharp gravel digging into my flesh, dragging my useless limbs up to the stage.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I mouth over and over again, but no one hears. When I get to the stage, my sister still stares out to the crowd but doesn't look at me. I hug her and hold her hand, but she refuses to acknowledge my presence. Desperation washes over me in waves. It longs to pull me under, the claws of exhaustion scratching at my hair, my legs, and my chest. I look out at the crowd, my eyes frantically searching for help, and then my gaze returns to Onyx. When I look back her skin is gray, the pink leaves her cheeks, and her lips are pale. I touch her delicate features as the light leaves them, and I notice I'm changing too. My skin looses color and my breath feels cold inside my chest. I scream but no one in the audience helps...

Then I wake up.

The light of dawn dances in patterns across my sisters' faces. Or perhaps they're just lighting up the room like people used to say. My two sisters are most lovely things I have ever seen. We are all tall and thin, with spidery long legs and pale skin. Our hair is long and a similar color blond, deep and gold like a slipping summer sunset. The only differences we share are our eyes. My youngest sister Emerald, whom everyone refers to as Em, has eyes that resemble liquid sapphires. I'm so jealous of them. Onyx and I have green eyes. I push the heavy wisps of blonde hair glued to my neck away and drag myself off the dirt floor.

My sisters and I reside in my parent's old house. It was huge, chic, and the most desired home in District 1. I remember it as if I am looking at an old photograph. A lush green lawn spread wide in front of my family's mansion. It was supported by gorgeously carved columns, etched with twisting vines and leaves. The house was white and pristine, three levels of marble floors and winding staircases. There was an oak tree next to my window, and when I was happy and young boys would perch precariously on the highest branch and tap on the window, their hearts throbbed to see me before sunrise and I would protest stubbornly but absolutely loved the feeling of adoration. Mother always had fresh roses on every countertop and I can still smell the lingering scent of my father's cologne in the air. But three years ago, when I was fourteen, our house was torched and most of it was incineration because of my parent's involvement in an underground rebellion. They were killed, and my brother too. The only thing that is left is the skeleton of our old living room; where we had to rebuild the walls with extra bricks. There's also a dirt floor, one window, and my mother's wedding ring. Everything else was either burned or looted in the fire.

My throat is dry and a pain that feels like every molecule in my spine is splitting open radiates from my back. I lie back down on the hard floor and feel the gravel pressing into me. I stare up at that one window that survived the fire and observe the light beams reaching towards my sisters and I. I watch the little specks of dust that dance expertly through the light, and I can't stop. I am amazed by how an inanimate object can have so much grace. Eventually, the heat warms my exposed skin and loosens my aching muscles. Beads of sweat began to roll off my arms and I try to sit up again.

I crawl on my hands and knees over to Em and brush tangles of thick hair out of her face. A smile tickles the corners of her lips even while she sleeps and it's a reminder of how and why I wake up in the morning.

"Em. Hey, Em. Come back to me, Em." I whisper, lightly running my fingers through her hair. She stirs a little. Finally rolling on her back, she blinks her eyes and dark, framing lashes and wakes up. I watch in utter awe, as the smile does not slip off her face. She's everything to me.

"You know what today is?" I ask, preparing her for The Reaping. I am lucky to be able to bring it up so lightly. Em is only eleven and will not have to experience a reaping for another year.

"A warm, sunny day . . ." She trails off, rolling her eyes upward to admire the sun. That's one of my favorite things about her, so innocent and happy. Her almost identical sister rolls over and snuggles into Em's side.

"Why are you up so early?" She questions drowsily, wincing away from the harsh sunlight.

_Couldn't sleep,_ I wanted to say. But a mother would not say that. And that is what I am to them.

"It's such a nice day outside," I try to imitate Em, and offer a smile. I brush the hair out of Onyx's face too and kiss them both on the cheek before turning away to prepare for the day.

Even though we are surrounded by the infinite luxuries of District 1 our house no longer has running water. No one likes us enough to reinstall it after the fire. I sneak out the back door and lug a bucket of fresh rainwater behind a couple trees. We have been doing this for three years and not a day goes by that I don't miss actual showers. I collapse at the base of the bucket and drink the rainwater like a dog. Embarrassed, I sit up straight and wipe my hand on my sleeve. I lightly lay my clothes above my head on tree branches and begin using the clean water and my nails to scrub off caked dirt and mud across my limbs. When the water cascades through my hair, assorted bugs wash out and litter at my feet and I pretend to retch. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. Finally, I dress in a simple white, eyelet dress with short sleeves and a leather belt for my waist and meet Em and Onyx inside.

To my surprise, they're dressed and ready for The Reaping. Em presents herself to me in a cotton blue dress that matches her eyes perfectly and has lace trim. Onyx has on an old dress of mine. It's one of my favorites, ashy grays in color and dances around her knees. There are buttons starting at the waist and trailing to her neck, and it scares me how mature she looks. I compliment their dresses and move to the pantry, pulling out a jar of jam, a couple biscuits, and paper plates. A strong sensation of pity flushes out my cheeks and burns down my throat into my heart as I do this. My mother and father fed us on beautiful china every morning, afternoon, and evening. What would they say if they saw this? I shake my head to relieve the thoughts. Upon opening the jar, I see the top is crusted over in mold. I wish I could throw it out but we need the food desperately in this household. I scrape it out with a butter knife and dump it out the back door for the rats to eat.

My sisters and I chat while we eat breakfast. In the back of my head I think about what people in other districts are doing right now, mostly because I know everyone here is infinitely more fortunate than in other districts. Even us. If I am reaped, or Onyx, one of the trained girls will lunge forward and volunteer herself and we can return to our homes. This is because District 1 is a career district. That means hundreds of boys and girls train mercilessly every month of the year to prepare for their chance in the spotlight. It is disgusting, in my opinion. Everyone is so determined to leave an impression on the world that they become savages, thrusting swords and shooting arrows is the only way to prove yourself around here. We walk harshly upon the Earth, looking into every acquaintance's eyes and thinking not of charity or aid, but of outlasting one another. Do the citizens of Panem not remember the inglorious war in which we were turned against our own brethren? We are each other's broken family. Many adolescents can't understand that concept and become starry-eyed in the shadow of fame and grow desperate for spotlight. I do not find it sad that I will not have that opportunity, for even though I have not been loved widely, I am loved deeply.

That is one of the things I despise the most about the Hunger Games. Every year it is just another countless casualty against the ancient war for freedom, or lack of thereof. The tributes think they bring honor and sacrifice to their district but the marks tributes leave are too often scars. This makes me think of my parents, how they tried so hard to bring unity to the country once more, and how they ended up isolating us from the rest of the district. I don't blame them, though. How could I blame my parents for walking so lightly upon the Earth, yet being so wise about the generations that could be affected after them by creating a country based on the principles of wholeness?

We finish breakfast and decide to walk to The Reaping. I brace myself. There are usually people waiting outside our door for us. They are drunks, or Capitol lapdogs, or old friends. They throw bottles at us, or rocks. Sometimes insults are hurled at us; "traitor" and "scheming mutts" are a norm. It was very scary for me at first. Mother and father had perished and I had to protect Em and Onyx on my own, but I believe experiences like this have helped transform me into a parental figure. I grab Em's hand and whisper delicately to her.

"Chin up, chest out, and no eye contact"

I was right, of course. A small group of mostly drunks gather outside. They spit at us and call us names. I pretend to stare intently at the banners in the distance illustrated to excite the crowd for the 74th Hunger Games. A particularly intoxicated man crawls by our feet. I squeeze Em's hand very tightly. She masks her face with a serious glare and trudges onward. A woman hold scissors up to Onyx's flowy blond hair and offers a fortune for it. We walk even faster until we're safe inside a sea of children at the City Center; nothing like the outskirts of District 1.

The City Center of District 1 is flawless. It consists of a circle of breath-taking Roman or Grecian architecture. Every building is exact in height, with big sloping arches or grand columns. Nothing has color; all surfaces must be a sparkling white or silver. The streets we walk on are actually made of reflective stones that resemble looking into a spotless mirror. The flowers planted on shop windows or street corners must be wrought iron roses, on the request of President Snow, but they must be painted white or gray. The mayor even strung flaunting lights across the stage, shining vanilla white. District 1 looks like the most sterile place on Earth, but I feel filthy.

Routinely, Onyx and I walk Em to the outer group where parents and younger siblings circle around the collection of reaping children until the ceremony is over. A very kind and young schoolteacher with eyes that look like melted chocolate and bubble-gum pink cheeks offers to watch her. Em obeys, she is old enough and watches us do this annually. We kiss her on the forehead and promise to pick her up at this spot after The Reaping.

There are so many children roaming around, gathering and milling into their spots, I grasp Onyx's hand to encourage us to stay together but really I just want to feel her warmth. The boys and girls that attend training are easy to spot; they huddle together in their age groups and stand extremely confident. They glower at the rest of us, making everyone feel weak and quite underdressed. The boys were suits, perfectly pressed and fitted, and the girls are adorned with diamond jewelry and formal dresses. I've seen Reapings in other districts during passed Hunger Games on the television and Districts 1 and 2 really overdue it. 4 is subtler. The Capitol always advertises the ceremony as an honor and a celebration, but even though we're all careers the tradition is very dismal.

Onyx and I take our time walking to the separate age groups. She points out there are thirteen living victors of District 1. We are taught to idolize them at school, but I do not know much about any of them. They are physically lush, and gorgeous. But I sense something in their eyes that is unhinged. The peacekeepers press their hands into our backs and separate us hurriedly into our own groups. Before each boy and girl files into his or her row, another peacekeeper stands guard at the front of each entrance and hands us a white rose. There is a silver ribbon attached to the stem that says, "_May the odds be ever in your favor." _Every year the Capitol sends us little thank you gifts or trinkets for our fierce loyalty. The crowd closes their eyes gently and sniffs their roses sweetly.

Our capitol escort, Dahlia, waddles of the stage with heels and a royal blue dress that both look about two sizes too small. She impatiently waves corkscrew curls out of her hair and motions us to the screen. It's the same rebel movie we watch every year that President Snow narrates. It shows bombs, shootings, and lots of blood from the rebel war. Some turn away in disgust; perhaps that citizens could go against their country like that or that our ancestors left us in this condition. But I do not. I stare at the screen with pride, knowing that my mother and father supported a second uprising. I am proud to be an heir of that bravery.

"Welcome, welcome! I am honored to be in the presence of such gallant young men and women." Dahlia begins, clasping her hands together in excitement. "Before we begin this chivalrous ceremony, it is asked of by the Capitol that it's most favored district bow to our gentle leader." There is a picture of President Snow on the projector. I look into his cruel, snake-like eyes and force myself to bend at the waist, never breaking a stare. The rest of my peers are silent, and obedient, but I just can't look at the man without seeing my late mother and father.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," Dahlia breaks the silence.

"Ladies first!" She swoops her hand into the glass bowl and pulls out a name. I wonder who will get the fame and fortune being a District 1 tribute. They will be cherished, victorious and everlastingly loved. I think about how many people are dying for this opportunity and hear a hundred girls drawn in a sharp breath all at once.

"Glimmer Gallows."

The initial shock sends waves of searing cold blood through my veins. My chest contracts uncomfortably. Immediately, I look to the careers with wide eyes for one of them to volunteer for me. They look back with stares that feel like they are boring through my skin. There isn't a sound.

"Glimmer, darling." Dahlia chirps into the microphone.

I glance up to the projector and see a close-up of my face. Pink lips slightly parted, scared, green eyes, and a pale complexion. I'm going into the Games, and I come to the realization that they have already begun. I begin to fight for my survival.

I gasp in utter happiness and smile, holding both hands to my cheeks. I turn and hug the girl next to me; who stands stiff as a board. Flashing a dazzling smile to the audience, I begin to make my way up to stage, swishing my hips a little as I walk. I hold a delicate hand to my beating heart, pretending to be in a blissful awe.

"Congratulations, Glimmer! You must be absolutely thrilled to represent District 1 as a tribute in this years 74th annual hunger games!" Dahlia squeals.

"I am! I have dreamed for this opportunity for years!" I hear myself saying in a perky voice.

"Before we proceed, I must ask. Are there any volunteers?"

Silence again. Bitterly, my eyes search the crowd for Onyx. She must know what I am playing at? I see her with the other 15 year olds in an endless ocean of white, gray and light blue. She is ghostly pale and stands with both arms locked across her chest. Her eyes are empty, vacant, but they look at me and move to the projector screen. The silence echoes as no volunteers step forward. I don't look at my healthy, promising, peers spread across the audience. I can't take my eyes off Onyx. Her eyes move steady. Me, projector, me, projector. She's trying to tell me something.

It clicks. No one volunteers for me because of who my mother and father were, exemplified in the rebel movie. It's my turn to suffer the way they had to. It is Onyx and Em's turn to suffer as well. No one wants me to be spared, even if it means filth representing District 1. With a smile plastered on my face, I put a thankful hand to my heart sink into myself a little, as if to signify how grateful I am that no one volunteered. Dahlia shakes my hand and embraces me, composes her ratty curls, and proceeds.

"The boy representing this district will be," Dahlia plucks out a slip. "Marvel Augustus."

I am thankful for the attention to be switched off of me even though I need to get used to it. The crowd claps politely for Marvel, but my attention is turned to his mother. She dabs a handkerchief to her eyes as friends and family congratulate her. She smiles and shakes the hands of admirers like a celebrity. I see her mouth that words, "_That's my son." _I wish I could be someone's daughter.

"I am pleased to introduce the stunning tributes of District 1, Glimmer Gallows and Marvel Augustus! Shake hands, you two." Dahlia chirps in her silly Capitol accent.

My first impression when I look at him is that he has beautiful eyes. Dark, and forest green like mine. Marvel is tall and slightly skinny, rather than muscular and lethal-looking, and I find comfort in that. I don't even know him, really, but despite being a career he seems… merciful. He doesn't smile at me when he shakes my hand, and I get that, but I find it peculiar when he knits his brow together in a confused nature. The way he looks into my eyes is like he's searching for something.

"Congratulations to the both of you, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Dahlia says for the second time. Peacekeepers take us by the arm and lead us off the stage.

"Where are we going?" I ask the man gripping my arm a little too tightly. His face is like smooth stone, and he doesn't give any hint that he heard me. "Excuse me, I asked where we are going?"

I don't realize until I hear Em screaming my name that we're being taken to our family for final goodbyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The guards dispose of me in some room in the Justice Building. Like everything in District 1, the room reeks of strong antiseptic. The walls, couches, carpet, and desks, are an untouched white just waiting for someone to _ohhh _and _ahhh_ over them. I pace across the floor, impatient for the constant repetition to calm me down. It doesn't.

When Onyx and Em enter the room they group quickly at my sides, hugging and whispering into my skin. I sit on the couch with them, expecting one of them to tell me how unfair it is that the careers didn't volunteer for me, or ask how they're going to feed themselves, or any of the other things that I know are running through their heads. But they stay silent for little while. Finally, I use the remaining emotional strength inside me to comfort them.

"Shhh, Em, everything is going to be okay. Don't cry, Emmy, you're going to be alright." I hush her, brushing a little hair behind her ear.

"Oh Glimmer," she gasps in panic, looking at me with horrified green eyes. "Please try and win. _Please._ I love you so much. Please try and win. Please win, please." Em repeats herself until her voice cracks and she can no longer continue.

"Now, don't get worked up. Shhh, both of you listen to me." I speak softly and calmly, trying to keep my throat from closing up. "Remember that I am a career now. Careers are always the favorites. I'll dress up real nice at the interview and get lots of sponsors, okay? And we can live in Victor's Village when I get back and always have enough to eat." I promise them, nodding my head in confidence.

"You're smart." Emmy hiccups, barely looking at me. "Brave, too."

"I know." Is all I can manage to say. In my head of think of the others, muscular and quick, towering over me with knives and weapons I cannot even fathom. Girls and boys that look less like children and more like trained warriors. I think I have something stronger than a knife though, something more worth coming home to than any of the other kids.

They hug me again, and I notice big sopping tears leaking on my shirt from Onyx. She's been especially quiet this whole time. When she lets go and faces me, I speak directly to her. She is to apply for a job in the factories where nice clothes and a good reputation is not required. They are not to take tesserae, but may sneak food from the factory cafeteria after hours. The Cassius', an old couple that were friends with my parents will provide extra meals. Lock the doors at night. Remain quiet but friendly in public. Onyx understands the responsibility. I smooth her gorgeous blond hair and wipe the tears streaming down her face.

"Wear this when you're in the arena," Onyx begins with a strong voice that surprises me. She lifts a hand to her neck and pulls out a thin, silver chain with my mother's wedding ring dangling at the end. "You will always stay thinking of us. Maybe when you're starving or cold you can remember to… fight."

"No," I push it back into her hand gingerly. "No, Onyx, I can't take the only belonging of Mother and Father into the arena. That's…" Suddenly I trail off. The awe of her sacrifice leaves me at a complete loss for words.

"You've been our mother." She says quietly, clasping it around my neck. I don't fight this time.

"I love both of you so much."

I look back and forth between both of my sisters, drinking in their appearance before the Peacekeepers rip them away. I read their uncertain eyes, big gleaming tears glass over their green irises. Bright pink blends from their cheeks faintly into a snowy complexion and colors their noses. Long, lanky bodies with sharp hip and collarbones hug me. Rushing waves of blond hair blanket my shoulders and chest when they are near and smell of smoky fires and peppermint.

I hear footsteps coming from the hallway, distant at first but getting closer. Em panics again and grabs at my dress.

"Glimmer. Please win, _please._"She sobs into my neck. I bit my lip and nod even though she can't see.

Then the footsteps stomp right outside our door and the Peacekeepers flood in, sternly reminding us that time is up.

I pull Onyx and Em in close to me, who now are sobbing uncontrollably, for perhaps the last time in my life. I kiss them on the forehead just before the peacekeepers clamp tight on the back of their arms and carry them away. I sit on the couch, my spine rigidly straight, forcing myself to keep a composed appearance. I desperately want to cry and run to them and whisper that everything is going to be okay, but the words _mother, mother, mother, mother _bounce around my skull with every beat of my heart. So, I just sit there with my hands folded in my lap with a calm expression plastered on my face as they shriek my name. The way I'll remember them is a weeping goodbye with a million worries hanging on their lips.

Without their presence in the room to drink up I feel dehydrated.

The door will not open again so I take time to look at my mother's wedding ring. The band is only millimeters wide and fully encrusted with dozens of little diamonds. Slightly raised above the band is a rounded emerald that sparkled no matter which way the light touches it. The inside is smooth silver, interrupted by a delicate cursive script. _LET YOU FEEL MY LOVE._

I wonder what that meant to my mom and dad. I run my finger over the words and still no remembrance surfaces in my thoughts. With my ring still chained around my neck, I slip my finger through the band and admire it. Mother must have had long, skinny fingers like me. There are a lot of memories from my childhood that I can't recall, but I do know that my mother loved this wedding ring very much. My father specifically got that one because the emerald was just the color of her eyes, and he would sometimes joke that hundreds of people in District 1 have blond hair and green eyes, and now he can pick his beloved wife out of a crowd.

It feels strange wearing the ring despite the fact it fits so well, probably because I'm so stuck on the fact that someone should be wearing its twin. I have thought a lot about marriage, frankly, but now that I'm going into the Games the lack of loving admirers will not be an issue. It is hard to imagine settling down with a husband partially because I've been ignored most of my life by most of my district, but also because I can't imagine someone getting in between my sisters and me. I like to think that I would be a good mother, though.

After Marvel's friends, family, teachers and whoever else claimed to be of acquaintance said their goodbyes; the Peacekeepers enter to take me in a rush. We're escorted out a back door, into a car, and taken to the train station. Since District 1 tributes are popular winners every year, we receive a lot of media attention from the start. The mayor encourages us to play this up by inviting friends and family to gather on both sides of the tracks and bid farewell. The station is crawling with reporters and cameramen, all trying to get glimpses of the promising tributes. I catch a glimpse of myself and remember who I'm supposed to be. I wave and smile at the crowd looking at no one in particular, hoping my smile is genuine. A grin plays around Marvel's lips but mostly he just looks bored.

The doors shut behind us and the wheels begin to turn. Marvel and I make way to the dining table promptly on account of how impossibly quick the train is accelerating. I don't even realize until the moment I sit down that the stomach churning scent is a full weeks worth of food, sitting right in front of me… I don't even have to work for it. There is lamb, fillet, and duckling. Piping hot soup Dahlia says is mixed berries with something called champagne. There is vegetables too; green beans, squash and eggplants. Enclosed in a dish of ice, there is a bright colored, round dessert called sorbet. All I can think about is the fact that District 1 is the next-door neighbor to the Capitol to begin with; surely our journey will take two hours at most. I cannot comprehend why all of this would be necessary.

We sit across from Dahlia, who seems extremely uncomfortable to be in a room all alone with us. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, fixes her hair, helps herself to the equivalent of three meals, all the while avoiding eye contact with us.

"Hey sweetheart. It isn't like I have a spear in my hand yet." Marvel sneers. Dahlia opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the door opening. She looks quite relieved.

A man and women glide elegantly through the doors of the previous train car, holding each other arm-in-arm. They walk poised and delicately, even the man moves with a dancer's lope despite his size. I meet their eyes just before they reach the table. Both of them are studying me carefully, lips parted in awe.

"Cashmere, it's a pleasure," Marvel greets them as if they are old friends. He rises, takes the girl's gentle hand, and kisses it. She redirects her focus to Marvel. "Gloss, you as well." He says to the man as he shakes his hand. Mimicking my fellow tribute, I stand up and shake my mentor's hands. I recognize them from the Reaping Stage.

"Eat up, you two!" Dahlia chirps as I release their hands. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to put on a couple of pounds before the big, big, big day!"

I think it is a good idea we're sitting because I believe I am about to faint.

"You are a very fortunate young lady," The women named Cashmere remarks, her polite voice littered with frost. "An opportunity to bring honor to your district without the heart-breaking, tragic years at the Academy."

I remember the dream I had the night before the Reaping where I was trying to volunteer for Onyx, but my tongue was too heavy with the words and my throat tightened suddenly.

That is what looking at Cashmere feels like.

She has a classic beauty to her. Well proportioned and muscular; every inch of her long arms and legs are toned. She has long golden hair that drapes across her shoulders and reaches towards her hips. Her face could be a dolls; high cheekbones, ski-slope nose, and famous green eyes of District 1.

Gloss is beautiful too, but in a different way. His hair is light brown, dark at the roots and lightening from there. He is tall and strongly built with broad shoulders, but his body is the only thing that looks vicious. Gloss has hazel eyes that study you, insisting an aura of confidence. His face is tan, but weary, and wrinkles are developing around his forehead. He is statuesque and asserts a feeling of authority throughout the room.

"I am surely blessed," I say sweetly, softly tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I don't know why I'm keeping up the act in front of them; Cashmere and Gloss are only here to help me. They understand what I'm going through, they may even be my best hope of survival… But I don't trust them, almost the same way I don't trust Dahlia. Cashmere and Gloss are one of _them _now and it only feels right to play up the angle I've created for myself and leave the old Glimmer back home in District 1. Hopefully if I keep it up long enough it will become second nature.

Cashmere forces the corners of her soft pink lips into a smile, and then refocuses her attention to Marvel once again. I start picking at food from the table, the Reaping has really washed any feeling of appetite but it seems wasteful not to eat. I can't help but notice Marvel sampling every dish on the table when it looks like he has never missed a meal in his life. The way he slides the meat onto his plate seems like bragging as my hipbones and ribs jut out from under my dress.

"We expect great things from you, Marvel. Ranked- what was it- 3rd out of 5,270 possible career tributes from your district? That's…" Cashmere's voice fades into background noise. Marvel and I eat so quickly you could hardly tell which one had no parents to supply for them and which one did not. I want more but don't make a move.

I can feel Gloss staring at me still, the weight of the heaviest burden I have ever felt multiplied by 10. Thankfully it is easy enough to ignore his gaze because he is sitting diagonal from me on the opposite side of Cashmere, but I am tempted to glance over. It's no secret one of the two most breath-taking people on Earth are looking at me…

"But once I get ahold of my spear, it's not going to_ matter _who my allies are or-" Marvels deep, assertive voice brings my attention back to the table. I didn't realize how he sounded until I heard Cashmere's voice. She's polite, but cold.

"Enough. We'll discuss this all later, but we've nearly arrived."

Dahlia drops her eyes at the spoonful of pink sorbet she has yet to enjoy and wrinkles her brow. Making a very petite, _hmph_ sound she pushes her chair out and waddles over to the train window.

"I've made this trip many times before, hon." Cashmere directs her voice to Dahlia. "Please sit." There is something in her voice that sends shivers up both sides of my neck. So cold.

"Once we stop at the platform, you will be sent to the Remake Center where you will meet your makeover team and get ready for the tribute parade," Dahlia says in that ridiculous Capitol accent, the end of her sentences rising an octave as if it is a question. "And, since you're the first ones to arrive, you'll have extra time with your stylists! Don't you know the best-looking tributes always get more sponsors?"

"Sponsors?" I question, looking back and forth between Cashmere and Dahlia.

"We'll discuss it all later." Cashmere insists, waving me toward the door. Looking at her glistening green eyes make it hard to react.

The train has slowed significantly, giving Marvel and I our first chance to look at our murderer's notorious empire. We can't help but flock at the window like children.

The magnificence of the Capitol cannot be overstated. Towering mountains, the edges and tops of them looking knife like and razor sharp surround the city. The streets and buildings are the same dismal color of the mountains, a haunting dark gray, but it's the inhabitants that make the whole scene so breath-taking. The unusually dressed men and women create a beautiful color spectrum with their painted bodies and dyed hair. Shimmery gold, polished pink, and bright blues scatter endlessly among the streets.

I think about Onyx and Em a bit. Truth be told, they're always _there_, my poor children ripped away for me, because they have settled in a permanent residence in the back of my mind at all times. We watch the Hunger Games every year, but I wish they could see what it looks like in person. The cameras do not do it enough justice.

"Ready you two?" Dahlia squeals excitedly, forcing a sudden sickness into my stomach.

Marvel doesn't look to Cashmere or Dahlia or me for comfort before stepping out into a bloodthirsty crowd of adoring fans. He rolls his shoulders back and steps confidently, almost arrogantly, out of the train.

And Gloss still stares.


End file.
